


Maxwell's Demon

by iceshade



Series: Catabolism [4]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Criminal husbands, Dark, Episode Tag, Fix-It, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Mick, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Instability, Mick is not Dead, Mild Gore, Partner Betrayal, Pyrrhic Victory, Spoilers, This show gives me so many feelings, Time Travel, emotionally repressed assholes, spoilers like WHOA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6428380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceshade/pseuds/iceshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heat always transfers from the system at a higher temperature to the one at a lower temperature until balance is achieved. This is Mick's journey as his fire cools on the path of revenge, from losing what he thought was his team and finding them again. But through all of that, even without his memories, he still can't forget that one person when he thinks he's finally found balance. The one person that reignites his inner fire and makes him feel things still. </p><p>(It is not necessary to have read any of the other fics in the Catabolism series to follow this one. However, if you haven't seen episode 1x09 yet, you WILL be spoiled.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fall of Mick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Who has a nursing exam next week? Me~eeeeeeeee! Who's Coldwave Trash and is writing fic instead of studying? Also me!) Yes, yes, it's my favorite trope again, slow spiral into mental instability, I know. That's why Mick's thoughts get more and more disjointed with every scene.
> 
> In continuing with the science-y theme: Maxwell's Demon is the theory that something supernatural could violate the second law of thermodynamics, which states, "the entropy of an isolated system does not decrease." Basically saying that instead of heat traveling from the hotter area to a colder one until it reaches equilibrium, it would go in reverse. This is physically impossible, hence I thought it an apt title for the one fic in "Catabolism" that is Mick-centric instead of Len-centric.

Mick experiences a moment of disorientation when he regains consciousness and has no idea where the fuck he is. That in itself is not a new phenomenon – Mick's gotten himself blackout drunk and/or beaten unconscious before – but he doesn't know why he's laying on ice of all places. Even out of his mind with alcohol or rage or pyromanic delight, he tends to avoid passing out in frozen places. Then his head throbs, and he remembers all too much.

_That fucking PUNK._

Len had abandoned him. His **partner** had abandoned him. Again. Mick searched his pockets for a lighter and swore out loud as he came up empty. _**And** he'd taken his lighter!? Was nothing sacred anymore?_ He punched a tree and immediately regretted it, as it injured his hand more than the tree. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Clearly, Len had brought him here intending to kill him, but changed his mind. The rest of the crew must be in agreement that he was nothing more than a piece of meat and wanted him disposed of. His heart ached at the idea that Len also thought so little of him. He'd think this was all a mistake, but Len didn't make mistakes.

Still... Len hadn't killed him. He'd pretended to, and their former crewmates probably assumed he had, but he hadn't. He wouldn't.

He wasn't sure if he wanted Len to come back or not. This was the rendezvous point; he should wait here. Len had to have some kind of backup plan because he always did. And then, he'd kick his ass like old times, and they'd figure this bullshit out together.

_But Len's left me before..._

No. He couldn't think like that. For now, Mick had to find a way to survive until then. He was good at that – surviving, that is.

* * *

Len hadn't come back for him.

Rage boiled inside Mick, providing temporary relief from both the biting chill around him and the desire to burn everything to ash. He needed a plan, but all his thoughts kept returning to one thing: Len. Len was the one who made the plans; Mick ran on anger and desire. And right now he had some very clear desires.

_Find Len._

No, not Len. He was Snart to him now.

_Find Rip. Get to the Waverider._

_Burn everything._

_Get to Snart._

His world narrowed down to that one thought.

He wasn't even sure why it was so important to him; if Snart would be his salvation or damnation – he just knew it was. He grinned to himself, reopening his split lip and tasting blood. The line between love and hate was a thin one.

_This meat wasn't done cooking yet._

* * *

Mick was so hungry. There was nothing to eat, he was too weak to move very far.

_Food?_

At this point he was even willing to try the strange plants around him. Maybe one would finally be poisonous and end this miserable existence.

_Len._

That was the problem wasn't it? What— **who** it all came back to. His former partner was still all he could think about. He wasn't even consumed with thoughts of fire anymore. His worldview had narrowed down to a single thread, and he couldn't separate the feelings of longing from the desire for revenge.

_Fucking Snart._

A rat crossed in front of him. Mick killed it without thinking. Broke it's neck and watched the light leave it's eyes. He didn't even realize he'd torn into the carcass until he felt it's juices running down his chin. He had just enough presence of mind to spit the bones out after hearing them crunch between his teeth.

_Hm, chewy._

_...more._

Another rat moved nearby, probably called by the squealing of its fellow. Mick grabbed it, eyes manic, the first rat's tail falling from his lips. This one too, he snapped it's neck. Reminded of his scrawny ex-partner as he did so.

_Len._

One day, he would snap Snart's neck like the rat he was. He found another. There was a whole nest here, just waiting for him to kill. Their tiny bodies at his mercy. Tonight, he would feast.

_This is for you, Len._

And another.

_I will find you._

Another.

_Break you._

Another.

_Devour you._

His stomach rolled. The combination of diseased, uncooked meat and the full feeling in his belly working against him. Mick dug his fingers into to dirt and fought to keep his makeshift meal down by strength of will alone. He would not go down easy. He was **fire**.

_Someone's here._

It didn't matter, Mick only had one purpose anymore. Only had room in his heart for one thing. Just one.

One.

_Len._

* * *

_Mick was on fire._

_Not literally, but the flames caressed his skin, surrounding him without burning him. Engulfing him in their warmth. Everything else was darkness and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen._

_As soon as he realized this, the flames shrank and disappeared inside him, making him glow and leaving him to relive his memories alone. Strangely, he felt almost nothing; neither emotionally nor physically. The fight, the hurt draining out of him. Not when he set fire to his family's farm, and not when finding out they had all died as a result. He noticed this with a detached sense of awareness, and it was only when he saw himself stepping in to save some scrawny kid from being shanked. His hands clenched involuntarily and_ want _curled in his gut._

 _The feeling disappeared as suddenly as it had come, and the warmth he'd felt from the phantom flames turned into a body. A hard, lithe body that he was thrusting into as it wrapped around him, the two of them attempting to become one. But then the memory dissolved into vapor, taking most of his other memories with it. Blue eyes and plush lips that hesitantly smiled at him, and that feeling of something lacking, all that remained. He was incorporeal, floating in a void and stripped of the anger and obsession that had plagued him for so long, and he was_ free.

_No, he was reborn. Ready to mold like wet clay and do what needed to be done. He would give them what they wanted, whoever "they" were, and they would enable him to get his revenge._

_The flames appeared again, and he watched them coalesce in front of him. They were still beautiful, but not the same kind of awe-inspiring beauty that would have enthralled him before. Before what? He could no longer remember. But it didn't matter, he had a mission now. He had someone to find._

The flames faded out, and he felt his body become solid once again. He felt heavy, so heavy, like waking up from a too-long sleep. The remnants of a dream like wisps of smoke in his brain that he couldn't hold on to. But it was only a distraction and no longer important.

He opened his eyes to an audience cloaked in shadows. "Welcome back, Chronos. You have work to do."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was turning out really long, so I split it into pre- and post-Chronos chapters.  
> And I'm so glad that they brought Mick back, because if the canon hadn't done it satisfactorily I was planning on ending this fic series with Mick coming back as a different temporal bounty hunter and saving the day. (hell yeah!) I'm such a sucker for brainwashing though. XD


	2. The Rise of Chronos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. For someone who prefers drinking to talking, Mick sure had a lot to say...  
> (btw I passed my exam!)

It should have been simple: track down an ex-Time Master, take him and his team out (figuratively), and return to the Vanishing Point. He shivered involuntarily; that place gave him the creeps, even though he'd literally spent a lifetime there. Or so he'd been told. For Time Masters, their concept of the passage of time was questionable, so it could have just been a year and a day. But they took away what was festering inside him and taught him how to control himself, so he would follow their orders.

He had hesitated, and he couldn't quite figure out why. He'd had them cornered, and then more of them had shown up and hit him with a car. There was that voice in the back of his head yelling at him to stop when the two men got out. He had only the bare bones of memories from his past life; he didn't _feel_ anything when he thought about it. He knew that he'd agreed to the mission before they wiped him of any personal attachments he might have, but it was still a shock to see his past self so _emotional_.

His orders had been not to kill as long as his past self was there. The paradox it could create not worth the headache it would take to sort out. Scaring them shitless, however, was encouraged. But there had been a casualty, so Master Druce was stepping in this time. Whatever, they didn't trust him. Big surprise there.

He finished making sure his weapons were in working order and all charged up. This time he was just there to be the hired muscle. If he was remembering correctly–and he very well might not be–this fuck up would be all on Master Druce. But then again, if his time (ha) with the Time Masters had taught him anything, it was that nothing was guaranteed. Maybe they'd learned something from his memories. He hoped not. He _really_ wanted the opportunity to make Rip fucking Hunter suffer, and he couldn't get away with that so easily if the man came quietly. On the bright side, if Hunter ignored his past self's advice, he'd get to shoot the man in the head.

* * *

 

After a snafu like that, he knew he shouldn't be so pleased with himself, but he couldn't help it. Master Druce had screwed up and ran, like a coward; he'd gotten to hear Hunter admit he was right; and he'd remembered his given name, Mick. By the time Master Druce finished whatever he was doing, his past self would be stuck in a Russian gulag and the Time Masters had much bigger things to deal with.

Mainly, that the scales were tipping in favor of the USSR winning the Cold War. But, since the Time Masters all had sticks so far up their asses they might as well be shish-kabob, they weren't going to be owning up to their failings any time soon. Which meant that while they tried to figure out a solution, _he_ would be returning to the Vanishing Point for "restoring" again.

The more things change, the more things stayed the same. They called the shots, and he took them. And then he got to be their whipping boy if it didn't work out. He wondered what they'd take from him this time. That thought should probably enrage him, but that was just another thing they'd taken from him already.

* * *

 

_Mick didn't understand how he could he could be in so much pain when he didn't even have a body. This time there weren't any gentle, glowing flames licking up his not-body; there was only searing agony trying to flay the flesh from his bones. There was a time, he knew, when the fire would have excited him, but now he couldn't wait for it to just go away._

_Eventually it did, only to be replaced by the sensation of claws raking through his brain – removing memory as it went and filling the furrows with knowledge the Time Masters deemed necessary. He saw himself burn without feeling the flame, saw himself age and wither away to dust before re-forming again. Saw himself kill and be killed, over and over again. He saw himself abandoned and betrayed until there was no room left inside him for thoughts of anything but vengeance._

_And then, when his body turned to ice and shattered a final time, he instead felt warmth inside. He saw someone else, and for a moment – he **remembered.**_

* * *

 

Turns out, the incomplete erasure of his memories had not gone unnoticed by the Time Masters. Or maybe that had been done on purpose; he never knew with those bastards. This time, he'd woken up and his body was whole. His skin soft and smooth, like all physical marks of his previous life had been erased. In the grand scheme of things, removing scars he knew he should have but couldn't quite picture was minor, yet he couldn't help but feel the loss. He trailed his fingers up his arms and felt the phantom sensation that a mouth had traced that same path before, and for some reason, he thought of a low laugh and blue eyes.

This time, he remembered his name, or at least what his name had been: Mick. They called him Chronos, but something during his time at the Vanishing Point this go around had caused that knowledge to resurface. Unfortunately, he also remembered being compared to a piece of meat. It was enough to push aside the brief sensations of want and focus him on the mission. That, and the Time Masters had told him who would be taking over the mission for him if he failed.

He was no longer to track any specific member of the team; he was to track the ship. He had tracked them via the time anomaly of a nuclear explosion far from Chernobyl into the Temporal Zone and shot them down. Unfortunately, their captain had performed evasive maneuvers just in time, and had dropped them out of the Temporal Zone and into an Alternate Timeline instead. Only Time Masters were cleared to muddle in timelines that were more potential than not. So he had to wait until they either reemerged on their own or erased themselves from the timeline completely.

Star City 2046. They had let him remember that one on his own. The feeling of belonging and it being ripped away from him. It was one of the few things he had memories of that could be considered fond. Come to think of it, they had left most of his memories from his first time jump to 1975 and onward intact, probably so he'd always know why he was doing this. And he was so close. This is technically where his knowledge of the crew ended. The tricky thing about Time Pirates was that they could literally strike at any time, and the blow to the head he'd been given beforehand by Snart made his memories just unreliable enough if they tried to extract them. Besides, he had never actually known exactly _when_ in time that misadventure had occurred.

If the team came back from this, he would be tracking them more or less blind from now on. He didn't even know how much time would pass before he found them again. Good. He loved a challenge.

* * *

 

_What was Vandal Savage doing in 1958?_

He figured that the best way to track the Waverider and her crew was to also track the man that had them on this wild goose chase to begin with, Vandal Savage. The Time Master databases had extensive info about Savage's whereabouts across the 22nd century – the man had stopped being subtle by that point in time – but he ignored those for now. If Rip Hunter was attempting to prevent Savage's rise to power, he wouldn't be going after him in the process **of** his rising to power. And the most recent recent data had placed the man in Oregon in 1958, meaning that his ex-teammates were sure to show up there eventually as well. He just didn't know exactly when.

The Waverider's AI would be sure to notice the energy of another time ship in the same place, so he had to wait until they emerged from the Temporal Zone first. Yes, every ship had cloaking capabilities, but it couldn't mask the residual energies of a time jump if he emerged too soon or too close. It was the smoke to a time ship's fire. He settled himself in to wait with his own AI system on alert as he decided to look up the people he was tracking. It _had_ been lifetimes since he'd known them.

Rip's file he ignored; he already knew enough about the man from his Masters' teachings and what his weaknesses were, and the Time Masters wouldn't have included anything he didn't because they were secretive bastards that way. But some of the other files were heavily redacted too, more so than necessary. Stein's he expected; whatever knowledge they did have on FIRESTORM or his other research they wouldn't share with a measly bounty hunter like him, same with the kid. So too with the blonde assassin's, but he wasn't sure how much info was missing there by design, and how much was missing because the Time Masters didn't know it themselves. But it was the sheer amount of info missing from Snart's file that threw him. The man had almost no criminal record, which he knew was inaccurate because he knew they had worked together once or twice, and _he_ had a record, (his own file he was not cleared to access, of course). And, unlike the others, there was even less about his personal life available. It was as if Snart was a ghost after he hit puberty. Some of the only useful things he could get was that he was a successful criminal whose home base was Central City, his parents were both dead at the time of his recruitment, and that he had a younger sister he'd do anything for. That, at least, he could use if he needed to.

He was still busy puzzling out the mystery that was the man who marooned him, when Gary interrupted him. Maybe the Time Masters thought he was similar enough to Snart that they'd just assumed he could figure the man out, but nothing was ever that simple with them. In the meantime, he had a job to do, and if he could take them all out in the process then it wouldn't matter anyway.

* * *

 

It had been almost too easy to find the Waverider – it hadn't even been cloaked – and to top it off, not even the whole crew was aboard. The flaming twosome was, but he knew that them being in an enclosed space like the Waverider would be enough to make them hesitate before merging. Surprising them on the bridge had been satisfying, but shooting Rip fucking Hunter ass over elbow had been even more so. And oh, there was the bright white of Snart's cold gun.

"Fall back! Get to the jumpship!"

Rip Hunter wanted them to retreat? Well that just would not do. He wondered if they'd bothered to remove his info from the ship's mainframe, or if he still had access. Didn't matter; the Time Masters had shown him how to get around that, but still. They vacated the bridge as they tried to make their escape, and it gave him enough time to engage takeoff. (Turns out, they hadn't erased his clearance.) He spared a brief moment of vindiction for the people being left behind by _him_ this time. Yeah, revenge was sweet.

He knew Rip, at least, would return to the bridge. A true captain always went down with his ship, and Rip might be lacking in many, many things, but he took his captain's duties seriously. Imagine his surprise when not only Rip, but also Snart came back for more. This was going to be fun.

Knocking the two of them out was easy. Part of him wished he could be the one to kill them, but the Time Masters wanted that honor for themselves. At least in Rip's case – they'd given him carte blanche for the others. He divested Rip of his weapons in case the man regained consciousness before he was ready, before kneeling next to the body of his betrayer.

The first thing he did was take the cold gun for himself and contemplated the delicious irony of using it on its owner. He powered it back up, aiming it at Snart for a long time doing nothing. The man groaned, and his eyes fluttered, and Mick felt his brain come to a screeching halt. Blue eyes, that voice; they were _familiar_. He shook himself. No, he had a job to do, and he had a better idea for Snart. A much more satisfying idea.

* * *

 

Mick looked at the clear walls surrounding him once again and laughed. It was a tortured sound that echoed in his small prison, (surprisingly good acoustics, though). He had hesitated, felt sentimental, and now they were all fucked. Feelings were **weakness.**

His fingers curled around the lighter that was once again in his possession. The lighter he thought he'd lost. Mick had found it while frisking Snart for weapons after taking him aboard the jumpship. The man had been carrying it in his breast pocket, and for a second Mick had felt something twist in his chest. Had Snart been holding on to it this whole time? Whatever. They hadn't bothered to take it from him before throwing him in here again.

Pistol-whipping Snart had been very satisfying, he had to admit, but he couldn't figure out what had stopped him from pulling the trigger. Wrap it up quickly, no muss no fuss. At the time he'd told himself it was because he wanted to stretch out his revenge, yet he could admit to himself, at least now, that he just hadn't been able to kill his former partner in cold blood.

_Great, barely a few hours in Snart's presence, and he was even punning like him again._

So he'd taken Snart with him, put him in unbreakable cuffs, and waited for the man to wake up. In the meantime, he had an AI to update and a plan to puzzle out. All because he'd wanted to draw his revenge out.

_"What's so special about me?" Snart had asked once he'd woken up; "I mean, aside from my sparkling personality back on the Waverider. You could've taken your boy, Rip, but you took me instead. Why?"_

Instead of answering, Mick chose to taunt Snart a little more before revealing himself. Anything to distract him from his gut reaction to Snart's inquiry and keep his thoughts from rolling off his tongue.

_Everything about you is special. It could only ever be you._

So many emotions had been visible on Snart's face once Mick removed his helmet, and he'd almost called off the whole charade. But it was Snart's demand, as if Mick owed him _anything,_ that had snapped the anger back in place. He wondered how Snart would react to everything he'd went through after being abandoned by him, and of course Snart assumed he'd been brainwashed into hunting them. The look on his face as he stared at Mick, though? That was the same way Len had looked at his father: with fear. (It wasn't until later that Mick realized he should not have had knowledge that personal.)

Maybe that was why he threatened Snart's baby sister. He had to redirect the conversation; _he_ was supposed to be in charge here. Mick knew Lisa was the only one Snart cared about, and hurting her would hurt him so much more than any physical pain inflicted. And he'd had to distract himself from all these strong feelings Snart was evoking in him. He needed to remember the mission, not his past.

Clearly he'd messed something up, because yet again, Snart had wimped out on killing him. Condemning him to be a freak in a cage until that ragtag band of "heroes" figured out what to do with him. He wanted to strangle his former partner, but at the same time he wished he could take away his pain. That stupid fucker had sacrificed his hand to save Mick's life. _Why?_ Hadn't they gone their separate ways for a reason? This man made everything so complicated.

There was a fine line between love and hate, and Mick straddled it every minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I **PROMISE** I am still working on finishing my day 5 fic for Coldwave Week 2016. The muse just kinda died over the mini hiatus and my subsequent return to school.  
>  Also check out [my tumblr](http://ecofriendlylovepod.tumblr.com/) for more Coldwave stuff.  
> (and [my primary one](http://fyeahhipsterdoctor.tumblr.com/), because I didn't know what I was doing when I signed up for that site)  
> 


End file.
